


Des Fleurs Pour Ma Femme

by Pappillon



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Human AU starring Yves Diamant and Diana Weiss, Old Married Couple, nsfw at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pappillon/pseuds/Pappillon
Summary: (Flowers for my Woman) Yves and Diana celebrate their wedding anniversary in the midst of the opening night of Diana's opera.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kinoshitakun](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kinoshitakun).



> For those of you who haven't spent far too much time studying French, the name Yves is pronounced almost exactly like the English 'Eve.'

The house sat relatively quiet when Diana returned from rehearsal. Before closing the large front doors of her home, she waved to her friend just as she drove away. Her heels echoed against the clean and freshly polished tiles as she moved into the main room. 

“Liebling,” she called as she set her heavy purse into one of the wide leather chairs. From the silence came the incessant whining of a sewing machine. The needle hollered every time it pierced and the rest of the contraption created a pounding one would expect to hear in a factory. 

Diana followed the sound through the long corridor just off the front door, passing pictures of both flowers and goddesses signed by their painters in gold, until finally coming to the sewing room, where the sound grew the loudest. 

“Liebling, I’m home!” 

The light overhead shined in unbearable fluorescence and painted awful shadows onto Yves’s face as she looked up from her thick mess of bunched-up fabric. She stopped to stare at Diana with sunken eyes that possessed more bags than her entire collection of purses, and wiped the sweat from beneath her curly, black pompadour. 

“Yves, how long have you been here? You look like some kind of zombie.” Diana produced a handkerchief to wipe all around the other woman’s face. Yves caught the offending wrist and released a fast sigh. 

“Stop it, Grandma. You’re going to smear my makeup.” 

“Ah! How many times have I asked you not to call me Grandma? Besides that, your makeup has already smeared. You’re covered in sweat. Why do you always wear such nice clothings when you work so hard? This is my favorite dress and you’re going to ruin it.” 

“All I have are nice clothings, Schatzi.” Yves stood to her full height as her bright yellow dress and all its flowing fabric settled around her. With her dark and slender arms, she grasped Diana into an embrace and settled her cheek against her short, White hair. 

“I like it better when you use the French nicknames.” 

“Si je t’aime, prends garde à toi,” Yves nearly sang.

“Oh, stop it. I don’t think there’s even one nickname in that song.” 

“How was opera?” 

“Opera was okay.” Diana pressed a kiss into the other woman’s long, elegant neck before they came apart and held one another’s hands. “We were having many problems with the lighting today, and our Pamina is terribly sick, so she couldn’t come to practice. That, and the director decided when the opening night is going to be.” 

“When is it?” 

“April 28th.” 

“Diana.” 

“I know. I couldn’t do anything to change it. I think it’s the day that works the best for everyone. I’m sorry, Liebling, but I thought that we can celebrate our anniversary earlier. Maybe we can go out for dinner on the Thursday before, if we have time after dress rehearsal.” 

“That sounds nice.” Yves leaned forward and kissed Diana’s forehead. “If we have time, but I’m not disappointed about opening night being when it is. I love to watch you sing, especially when you’re dressed up. You’re just magical.” 

“Oh—” Diana’s face grew pink. “Is that why you’ve worked so hard today?” She looked, briefly, to the black and shiny fabric sitting in a frothy mess beneath the sewing machine’s needle. “I’m excited to see the dress when you finish it. I know it’s going to be lovely.”

“It has to be. You’re the queen.” 

“Just don’t make it too heavy. I have to act in it.” The shorter woman released her wife’s left hand and pulled her by the right. “Enough talking. I want to eat. You look hungry too.” 

“I am hungry, but you don’t have to worry about the dress. I intend on making it perfect.” 

They had just made it past the marble statue of Venus when Diana turned around and slowed her feet. Their fingers twined together as she said, “I know I’ll probably like everything about it. I love your clothings.” 

Yves smiled and they continued into the kitchen to split the pasta salad Diana had prepared the night before. Every night, they at least tried to eat together, each taking their seats at the little table for two in the background of their large dining room. Diana would tell Yves about her various opera problems that might arise on any given day, and Yves listened with her dark, intense eyes focused on Diana’s blue-grey irises. Then they would cuddle on the couch and watch television (if the clock didn’t strike too late) with Yves’s long arms wrapped around Diana and her lips coming occasionally to kiss behind her ear, or upon the cheek. 

That night, Yves focused on Diana’s neck, just beneath her jaw, where she had sprayed her perfume that morning. She always applied a small cloud from a curvy, champagne-colored bottle and emerged from the fog looking like a goddess, with her deep red lipstick and whatever dress she chose to wear.

Yves’s hand slipped down one of her wife’s generous curves, past the soft white fabric of her skirt, just as she opened her mouth and began to suck on a small patch of fragrant skin.

“Ah—don’t. If you leave a mark everyone tomorrow is going to see.” 

Yves bit her. 

“Stop it! That is so rude!” 

The taller woman quit and held her wife even tighter, shaking with laughter against her. 

“You are so stupid.”

Yves’s dark lips caught Diana on the cheek and she settled down. “Sometimes I still think about the first time I saw you on stage, twenty years ago.” 

The television spoke in the background and cast a gentle light over them. The opera singer released a breath for ten entire seconds before she touched one of Yves’s hands. 

“I was just a model back then, part of a fashion show in Munich. I think it was my manager at the time who had tickets to your opera, so we went, and I was gay for you the moment you walked on stage.” 

“Oh, Yves.” 

“I never would have imaged what a square you are.” 

Diana gasped, turned immediately to face her wife, and sank her teeth into the side of her neck, like a vampire looking to drain one of her arteries. Yves sang a little herself as she screamed at a high pitch, but Diana didn’t stop; if anything, all of the noise caused her fangs to grip even harder, and when she finally let her go, Yves had shoved herself into the nook of the couch, glaring with her lips plastered into a severe frown.

“Don’t worry, Yves.” Diana patted her on the shoulder. “You have plenty of neck to spare.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Diana made beautiful, coloratura laughter and kissed her Liebling on the cheek. “Good night, silly bitch. I love you.” 

“I think I’m bleeding.” 

“You’re okay. Walk it off.” 

One woman left the other to prepare for bed, and after several minutes, Yves finally freed herself from the savage couch cushions and turned off the television, wandering in partial darkness to the bedroom to find the opera goddess as a lump beneath the thick covers. Even in the darkness, Yves took her long, pointy finger and poked Diana’s side, causing her to squeal. Then, she turned on the bright bathroom light and inspected the indent the siren’s fangs had made. Though she hadn’t drawn any blood, Yves wore a perfect mold of Diana’s teeth on the side of her neck. The former model sighed, brushed her own teeth, and then washed that day’s faded makeup from her face and the tiny folds of her crow’s feet where powder tended to settle. 

From the bathroom’s shining light spilling into the bedroom itself, Yves watched as her wife writhed beneath the blankets and bitched. Even when obscured by the comforter, all of her generous shapes still showed, and Diana looked much like she had all of those years ago—a goddess on the stage, sparkling. 

Even then, her hair had already turned white, and they—perhaps the director or costume designer—had wisely set a stark black tiara upon her head, and she shined like a beacon while she sang of motherly revenge. 

From beneath the sheets, Diana accosted Yves with her steel grey and bluish stare, mumbling under the oppressive bathroom light. 

“You’re taking so long on purpose. Come to bed, Liebling. I’m sorry to bite you so much.” 

Yves flipped the switch and found her way into bed by the subdued glow of the moon. Her wife turned toward her and touched a few of her fingers. 

“You really left a mark, Miss Weiss.” 

“That’s Mrs. Weiss to you.” 

“You’re lucky I won’t be leaving the house much tomorrow,” Yves set her hand adrift through Diana’s hair and pinched her on the ear. “I’ll just be working on your dress the entire day, otherwise I’d have to explain to everyone how abusive you are.” 

Diana stuck her tongue out and a few of her teeth shone under the shape of her smile. “You’ll still drive me to the theater, won’t you?” 

“I guess I could make you walk, or take the subway, but I don’t want you biting me again. Besides, that’s no way to treat an old lady—” 

Diana nearly pushed Yves out of bed. “Now I’m really going to bite you.” 

“Please don’t.” 

“Then why do you always say terrible things to me? I love you so much and you’re always telling me that I’m old.” 

“I don’t mean it as bad thing. You’ll always be the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” 

Diana narrowed her eyes a moment before responding. “That’s better,” the Queen said and came a little closer. 

Yves accepted her into her embrace. “How would you feel about a powdered wig?” 

“I don’t know, Liebling.” Her words warped under the influence of a yawn. “I think we can talk about it when the outfit is ready.” She closed her eyes. “Maybe we can put flowers inside the wig.” 

Yves gasped. “You’re going to be so beautiful.”

“Oh no…” Diana yawned again. “Now you’re going to be up all night.” 

“What do you think of silver flowers?” 

“I think it’s very late and I don’t care. Good night, my love.” 

“Good night, Schatzi,” Yves kissed her wife on the forehead several times, until she complained, and then the tall woman spent much of her energy attempting to stay still as she set and arranged the theoretical silver blossoms several hundred times.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the bare hours of sleep, Yves still woke at eight to take Diana to the theater. With the covers up to her nose, she caught the sight of her wife standing in the bathroom mirror, combing back her snow-white hair and making her cloud of perfume. Diana lifted her chin as she spritzed beneath it and set the bottle with a polite clink back upon the marble surface. Before reddening her lips, she crinkled them, and turned her face to the side, leaning far forward to observe the skin next to her eye. Her index finger touched her eyelid a solid minute before she stepped back, squarely, standing in the mirror and sighing. Diana then applied her red and came out of the bathroom. 

“Oh, Liebling,” she took a few steps closer. “You look exhausted. You didn’t sleep at all, did you, you little goose?” She used Yves’s cheek to blot her lipstick. “I don’t mind to take the subway if you want to rest.” 

“Absolutely not—” Yves rose from the sheets immediately and began fixing the out-of-place front curls of her pompadour. “I said I would take you and that’s what I intend to do. I only need five minutes.” 

“Five minutes? But we have fifteen before we have to go—”

Yves had already begun to dress, standing mostly nude upon casting her night gown to the floor, covered only by a pair of cute black panties. Her precise and picky fingers dove through her wardrobe of sunshine and removed a buttercup yellow dress that she tossed over her head, ruining her hair again. She smeared the print upon her cheek and marched to the bathroom to brush her teeth. 

Diana watched all the while, fingering her necklace of Pearls. 

Yves emerged no more than two minutes later, looking presentable enough with a terrible bite against her neck and the ghost of a kiss upon her raw cheek. 

Diana touched the imprint of her canines as she walked by. “Do you want breakfast before we go?”

“There’s no time. I’ll eat when I come home. Let’s go, Diva.” 

“Why don’t we take a coffee on the way? No one will care if I’m a little late.” 

“‘I vill care.’ Come along now.” She had already began walking down the hallway and to the garage. 

“Don’t make fun of my accent! I’m doing my best!” Diana finally followed. 

“I love your accent, Schatzi!” Yves had paused at the door and held it wide open as her wife clacked forward on her tall heels, but Diana stopped and pouted before the threshold, standing perfectly in place. “We’re leaving so early. I want to take a coffee and maybe a croissant, please.” 

“Tu veux un croissant?” 

“Oui, je veux prendre une croissant, et du café.” 

“D’accord. Croissant is masculine, by the way.”

“I don’t care,” Diana finally crossed the doorway. “Let’s go.”

“Okay. On y va.”

Yves drove Diana to the coffee shop, through the slow-moving and crowded streets, and after several minutes of waiting in the car and watching as the apathetic blue numbers changed, Diana returned with two coffees in a small carboard tray and an obese brown paper bag, rolled up at the top. She got back into the car and set the clear plastic cups into the cup holders, and Yves immediately started the engine. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Schatzi.” 

“Do what, Leibling? Both of these are for me.”

Yves took her eyes off the road for just one moment to gently glare at her wife, who had already begun to drink her tan iced coffee. “Are you really going to drink it black? I thought you said it was too bitter.” 

“It is. I was only kidding.” 

“Well, darn. You got me, hahaha. Golly. What a trick.” 

Diana began to laugh, but because her mouth occupied itself with the straw, she kept her joy confined to her body, and every part of her shook while her cheeks turned a little pink, but she did stop for a moment to say, “Yeah, I got you.” Even then, she kept expelling her mirth and leaned forward a bit, filling the car with her playful high notes. 

Yves pinched her cheek, “You useless European.” 

That only made the sound louder, and they headed toward the theater as Diana pinched off pieces of a croissant and put them into her wife’s mouth. 

Upon arriving, Diana kissed Yves goodbye and clacked through the front doors, turning back to wave before entering. In response, Yves simply lifted her hand and drove away, heading directly back home to work on her queen’s dress. 

From the car, she called her assistant Pauline. 

She picked up after two rings. 

“Bon matin, Madame Diamant—” 

Yves cut her off with more French. “Pauline, I need your help today.” 

“Yes, Ma’am. Are you working at home?” 

“Yes. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” 

“I’m heading over right now. I’ll see you momentarily.” 

“Thank you. Good bye.” 

By the time Yves had pulled into her garage, she had already finished about three-fourths of her coffee and had fixed her pompadour in the short time she spent waiting at the red lights. From the driveway, she saw Pauline waiting at the front door with her big bag of supplies. Even the smallest edge of her purse stretched larger than her tiny waist and all of those possessions made her lean slightly.

Yves let her in immediately and both began walking towards the workroom the moment Pauline’s foot touched the perfect tile floors. 

“We’re working on my wife’s dress for the opera she’s going to be in. It opens in two weeks and she’s playing The Queen of the Night. I want her to look fabulous.” 

“That sounds excellent, Madame Diamant.” Pauline’s short blond hair bobbed as she attempted to keep up, occasionally breaking into a run. “Have you begun working on it?” 

“I have. I might need you to go out and pick up silver flowers, along with a few other things, but I’ve completed my sketch.” Yves opened the door and both of them entered. The taller woman marched straight to the closet and pulled both its sides far apart and took out her mannequin. 

Adjusted to stand at Diana’s height and width, it wore a black bodice of lace and glitter, but had yet to possess any skirts. 

Yves looked at Pauline after setting it in the center of the room, and found her eyes wide. 

“What?” 

“Madame, are you alright? What happened to your neck?” 

“Diana bit me last night because she’s a damned animal, but let’s focus.” She moved to the machine and the table it sat on and pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers. Unfolding it, she handed it to her assistant, who released a little breath upon observing the sketch. Yves continued, “I haven’t drawn on the flowers yet, but after a lot of reflection I’ve decided that I want them to come up the skirt from the left and swerve to the right until they stop at the shoulder.” Her serious nail indicated the end of the dress’ right collarbone, and Yves continued, “I want her to have a powdered wig as well—nothing too heavy—and we could put the same type of flowers on there but I’d like them more evenly spaced, like polka dots.” 

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” 

“I’ll need to send you to the store, Pauline. If you can’t find decent silver flowers, we’ll have to make them ourselves.” Yves sat herself at the sewing machine and, from one of the stand’s drawers, took a pair of spectacles and set them onto her face. “In fact, I’m sure you won’t be able to find flowers lovely enough. Please come back with two yards of silver chiffon and the receipt so I can reimburse you.” 

“Yes, Madame. I’ll return as soon as I can.” Pauline removed an even smaller bag from her enormous sack of supplies and left immediately as Yves began working. 

With her gold-rimmed glasses, she manipulated the pile of black, precise fingers securing each piece into place as the needle traced over her work and made it permanent. Every so often she pushed her spectacles back upon the bridge of her nose as one of her prints went for a button on the machine. Yves never took her eyes from the skirt; she merely worked as though she had four arms instead of two, and had nearly finished by the time Pauline returned. 

Softly, the assistant knocked upon the door before entering, holding a small paper bag with elegant black words printed across it. She gasped a little when she caught the skirts beneath Yves’s needle and drew closer to take a better look at the frothy and fantastic mountain of fabric.

“Madame, that looks beautiful.” 

“Thank you, Pauline.” Yet again, the designer didn’t move her attention from her work. Those frenzied hands merely kept going. “Show me what you’ve picked out.” 

Pauline pulled the chiffon from the bag and brought it to Yves, who finally moved her head to look at it. She adjusted her glasses and, with two of those strict fingers, touched the light, nearly transparent fabric that had a slight metallic sheen. 

“Very good. Thank you, Pauline. I’m almost ready with the skirt, so if you could draft a few flowers for me, I would appreciate it. I was considering roses or camellias.” 

“Yes, Madame. I’ll get started immediately.” 

The assistant sat inside the stiff chair in the corner of the room and went to work with her sewing supplies. Her precise and floral print fabric scissors chewed up perfect cuts of chiffon while she shaped them into flowers and stitched the pieces together. All the while, Yves finished the Queen’s skirts and came to the mannequin to pin them to the bodice. Once properly affixed, she stole the entire garment, attached both halves and brought it back to the naked form in the middle of the room.

Pauline looked up from her camellia and widened her eyes at the gown. Even in the unkind light of the workroom, it sparkled with its flowing fabrics that gently kissed the floor. The light and airy skirts divided into several sections like the petals of a rose and the ensemble appeared almost as a calm wedding dress, but in black, of course. 

Yves let out a long breath and placed her hands atop her twice-ruined pompadour. Feeling a few curls out of place from her recent sweat, she amended them and came to Pauline without sparing another moment. 

“That looks nice, but I need the flowers to be smaller.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Pauline put the bloom aside and started anew, while Yves stole the scissors to briefly bend the silver chiffon to her will. “Madame Diamant, I think Diana will love the dress. It’s beautiful.” 

“I appreciate that, Pauline. I intend on making it even more beautiful by the end of today. In fact—” She put the petals and the scissors down to lift the mannequin and hide it back in the closet. “Let’s just work on the flowers while you’re here today. I can attach them myself.” 

“Of course, Ma’am. Whatever you like.” 

That was precisely what they did. For hours, both of them sewed together petals they had made from chiffon and tossed them into a large cardboard box Yves took from the closet. The blooms accumulated like ripe camellias dropping from a rich tree and set almost entirely full after the six hours they worked together, including a few short coffee, food, and cigarette breaks. 

Pauline left around four, nearly as disheveled as her bite-marked boss with her messy pompadour, who saw her assistant off by waving at her from the driveway. 

Then Yves returned to her dungeon and pulled the dress from behind the two doors again, having only about an hour before Diana arrived. With her tired hands, sweat-fogged glasses, and vast basket of sharp silver pins, she went about attaching the loveliest camellias, beginning from the waist and branching out from there, like a path of close stars sitting in the milky way. The blossoms bunched together tightly at the waist and expanded, until more of that black space came between them the further each went, until one sat pinned directly upon the dress’ right shoulder and another would hover above Diana’s left foot. 

Yves stood back and regarded her work for only a moment, taking the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She only watched and remained for a few seconds until hiding the entire ensemble behind the closet doors again, as Diana would come home any second. Yves wrote a note that she fixed to the closet, reading, “Unfinished. Please don’t look,” and finally left her workroom to shower before Diana could find her caked in not only one day’s, but two days’ worth of sewing-hell sweat.


	3. Chapter 3

The gown stood in the center of the workroom once Yves had securely dropped Diana at the theater. The designer looked at her piece only a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes tracing the trail of delicate silver flowers. She rolled her lips and bent her brows before pulling out her phone and snapping a picture, sending it immediately via text. 

She made a phone call shortly after that. 

“Yes, hello? I just sent you a photo of Diana’s costume. What do you think?” 

Yves listened to the other end before beginning to speak again, “Oh, good. I’m glad you like it. I wanted to ask you about a powdered wig. I should have it done fairly soon.” A silence commenced as Yves rolled the prints of her left thumb and index finger together. “Excellent. I’m happy we agree. Would it be alright if I leave the costume with you? I don’t want Diana to see it until the dress rehearsal.” Pause. “I’d like it to be a surprise. It’s the night before our wedding anniversary and I want it to be part of my gift to her. It took me about twenty hours to sew…alright, thank you. That’s all I needed to talk about…Yes, you too. Good-bye.” 

Yves removed the dress from the mannequin and placed it within one of her various empty costume bags, zipped it up and placed it in the back of her car. In the few days that had passed between Pauline coming over and Yves sewing the camellias in place, she had also commissioned a medium-sized powdered wig for Diana’s costume that currently sat in the workroom. Yves efficiently glued her flowers into place and set a black tiara against its brow. She had constructed it to look like the dark branches of a barren tree, and as promised, the flowers bloomed in perfect symmetry above it. Once completed, she delivered both of these items to the director’s house herself and returned in enough time to watch as Diana walked through the front door. 

Yves had set herself upon the sofa in the front room, dressed in her classic yellow as she held a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. For once, in the very long last few days, she had secured a sunshine-colored bow in the center of her crown amongst perfect hair. Even underneath her golden reading glasses, Diana could make out her wife’s finely applied cat’s eye, accompanied by deep berry lipstick and eyelashes longer than a butterfly’s wings. 

“Liebling, you look beautiful. I don’t think I’ve seen you relax all week.” 

Yves tilted her long neck to look at her partner. With one hand, she removed her spectacles and blinked, dramatically, once. “Oh, I was just taking a break. I’ve finished your costume and I wanted to catch up on my reading.” 

“You finished it?” Diana’s entire being nearly glowed. She placed her purse upon the ground as her heels brought her nearer to Yves. “Can I see it? Is it in the workroom?” 

“No.” 

“No?” Diana’s expression changed as her fine brows bent and her lips pursed slightly. “You mean I can’t see it?” 

“No. It’s not here any longer.” 

The opera singer dropped her arms. “What do you mean, it’s not here any longer? Where did it go to?” 

“It’s at the director’s house.” Yves maintained her poker face. “You’ll have to wait until the dress rehearsal to see it.” 

Diana stood there, speechless. “But…Why?”

“Because, it’s a surprise.” 

“But why would it be a surprise? I wanted to look at it. I was sure you would show me when you finished.” 

“Not this time.” Yves’s lips twisted into a demure smile. “Sorry, Schatzi.” 

Both wives stared at one another for a few long seconds. Diana maintained her pout and Yves kept her coy grin, at least until the German woman stole her wine glass, drank all its contents in one gulp, gave it back, and left. 

“Hey!”

But Diana had already escaped down the hallway, clacking away on the beat her fashionable heels made. 

A few days expired and neither woman brought up the dress again. Diana fumed for a while, released a few sighs, and eventually let it go. The pair went about their normal conversations, made dinner together, cuddled on the couch and went to bed afterward, until the dawn of the dress rehearsal. 

Yves drove Diana to the theater through the slow traffic, turning to glance at the profile of her face every time they had come to a stop. The opera goddess would catch her and look back, practically shrugging with her forehead at the feeling of her wife’s intense gaze. 

“Why do you keep looking at me, Liebling? Is there something odd about me?”

“No, Diana. Not at all. Sometimes I just can’t believe you’re really mine.” Yves’s sharp brown eyes had softened as she looked at her wife’s face and back to the road. “I feel very fortunate to live during a time where I was able to marry you. So I could look at you and say, ‘Yeah. That’s my wife—that stunning coloratura soprano with the adorable accent when she speaks English, or French.’ Probably German too. I don’t know.” She glanced back to Diana, briefly. “I just wish it could have been sooner. Three years makes it seem like we’re new to this, but I guess it really doesn’t matter. Whether I’m your girlfriend or your wife, or even just your friend, I’ll love you with my entire heart until the day I die.” 

At that point, Diana reached over and touched Yves’s shoulder, her beautiful blue-grey eyes growing damp as she cleaned her tears with her free hand. “Oh, Yves. You’re not going to call me ‘grandma’ now, are you?” 

The woman driving began to laugh. “No, Schatzi. Not tonight, anyway. As much as I love it when you push me or bite me, you have a performance to kill. I shouldn’t give you a reason to get too into it.”

Diana still smiled beneath a light shower of tears. “I would never curse you, Liebling.” She continued wiping her eyes. “You know, even when I knew for certain I didn’t like men, I never would have imagined I would be married to a woman one day, much less a woman who was younger than me, but I’m very happy to be with you, Yves. The first time I ever spoke to you, I knew I wanted to be with you. And then after the first time we make love, oh. You took my heart, and I could never stay away.” 

Yves smiled at her wife. “Do you remember how nervous you were? You were shaking. When I took your bra off, you gave me this wide-eyed look.” 

“I had never been with another woman before. Thank you for being gentle with me.” 

“I’m not going to be gentle with you tonight.” 

Diana turned a little pink. “Really?” 

“Really. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember how to speak English.” 

“That’s funny. I want to fuck you so hard that you wake up speaking German.”

They stopped at a red light and both women hooked their mouths together at a snap of the fingers. Only when someone honked behind them did they separate and Yves continued driving the car. Diana came away with her wife’s lipstick all over her mouth and ended up cleaning it with one of the wet wipes she kept in her purse. 

Yves shook her head. 

“What is it, Liebling?” 

“You are so beautiful. I can’t wait to see you in costume.” 

Diana smiled with faded pink all around her lips. “I’m glad it’s only a dress rehearsal. I’m going to be thinking of you every moment I’m on stage.” 

“I can’t wait.” 

They arrived at the theater shortly after, and both walked in together with their hands clasped by the lock of their fingers. Yves and Diana walked into the brief chaos before the show, as well as a wave of greetings from the other actors, some of which had already dressed (at least partially) in costume. 

On their way, they passed the director, who came toward the couple immediately. “Hello, Ladies. Your outfit awaits you in your dressing room, Diana. I think you’re going to love it.” 

“Oh, she will.” 

The pair continued to Diana’s little room that had been labeled with her name and the opera singer paused for a moment. With her hand on the door, Diana turned to look at Yves, pursing her lips and saying nothing. 

“What?” Yves responded. “Open it.” But even then, her slender hands had come to squeeze her wife’s shoulders as she bit her bottom lip. 

Diana looked back to the threshold and turned her hand around the golden knob. The inner lock made a little click as it disengaged and the hinges squealed a little as the door separated from its frame. The light from Diana’s vanity shined into the area around them.

There, in the corner of the room, sat the dress, still wrapped in plastic and folded neatly over the chair. Diana came slowly toward it, rolling her lips as her curious fingers took hold of the zipper. Pulling it downward, she separated either side of the plastic container, like a butterfly emerging from a clear cocoon, and exposed the gown’s camellias. Previously sealed tight within the bag, they began to expand outward as if taking a heavy breath in, and Diana placed her hand over her mouth. 

“Oh, Yves.” 

Her fingers brushed through that small field of precise, hand-sewn flowers, posted carefully onto the dark and shiny background that resembled a clear midnight sky. 

Yves watcher her, well in place near the freshly closed door, with a few of her prints pressed against her hips. Diana took the gown from its bag and held it up, greyish eyes looking over every stitch and every blossom. 

Eventually, she put her costume back upon the chair and turned to her wife, tears boiling over again. “It’s beautiful.” She cleaned the droplets from her cheeks and came to Yves, squeezing her slender body in a strong embrace. 

The taller woman spoke, “Oh, Schatzi, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Yeah, stop it.” 

Yves laughed and kissed Diana’s forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you like it so much.” 

“I love it, Liebling. It’s very beautiful, just like you.” 

“Oh, stop.”

The opera goddess connected their mouths and her wife tasted a bit of the salt from her tears. They only kissed few seconds before Diana moved back to her dress and began removing her clothes. “Help me with my outfit,” she said, unbuttoning her shirt and folding it neatly over the back of the chair. 

Once relatively naked, the opera goddess stepped into her gown, and Yves zipped up the back, the entire ensemble hugged her generous curves, but laid loose enough to allow her to breathe. Throughout the process, Diana frequently touched the spattering of blossoms along the front of her dress, prints getting personal with each petal while Yves set the cap and the wig onto her head. They spoke as the designer did the singer’s makeup, stopping only occasionally to touch their lips together, and Diana applied her own lipstick last. 

When Diana had become the queen of the night, Yves stood back and placed her palms flat against one another, looking at her wife as though she were one of the statues in their home, and Diana looked back. However uncharacteristic grinning might have been for such an entity, she couldn’t help but make a playful smile at her wife—who has embellished her so well. 

“Oh, Schatzi. I could just marry you again.”

The Queen laughed, “I might let you,” and she held Yves between her long lashes. “You know, this reminds me of my wedding dress. It had flowers across the front as well, even though they were a little different.” 

Yves tilted her head and turned her mouth into an odd line, saying nothing. 

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” 

The designer kept her exact position, but opened her smile to show some of her teeth. 

“Oh, you’re just ridiculous! Did you want me to marry you in a powdered wig too?” 

“What would you do if I said yes?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Diana stepped forward and, after pausing a moment before Yves, gave her stomach a playful slap, but then offered a hand for her to hold. “You’re always saying I’m an old lady, but I hope you don’t think I’m from the 1700s.” 

“Not at all, Schatzi.” Someone yelled something outside the door and both women walked outside. “Even if that were true, you’d be the most beautiful, powdered-wig wearing skeleton I’ve ever seen.” 

“Honestly!”

But Diana’s attention immediately went to all of her fellow singers’ compliments, which she responded to with kind words of their outfits, sometimes in English and sometimes in German. The entire time, she remained attached to Yves by their intertwined fingers, who kept her admiration against some part of her wife’s face, leaning over occasionally to afflict her cheek. 

Diana finally sent her away when she had to warm up, and Yves found her seat in the front row, waiting and watching as the crew set the scenery. Even from well off the stage, Diana’s voice made a cameo within the theater. 

Eventually, more people began to file in—those friends or relatives of the singers who bought their tickets at a discount. One of these included Pauline, who took a seat next to Yves and handed her an impressive bouquet of fair white roses. 

“Thank you, Pauline. I suppose camellias didn’t work.” 

“No, Madame. My apologies, but I thought these would be adequate. You suggested white.”

“Yes, these are lovely. They’ll match her hair.” 

“Hmm,” Pauline settled into her seat, “Has she seen the dress, Madame?” 

“She’s wearing it and she loved it. Thank you for your help.” 

“Of course, Ma’am. It’s my pleasure.” 

A few minutes passed and the lights began to dim, and just a short while after that, the opera started. Yves leaned forward in her seat and didn’t lean back for the rest of the performance, and nearly recited the lines until Diana walked on stage, following the dramatic announcement of, “Sie kommt!”

Her three assistants moved well out of her way so the queen could address the prince, and Yves leaned even further forward in her seat, every last fiber of her attention clinging to her wife, holding fast to the sparkling bits of her skirts. The audience released a collective gasp when the queen took the stage, delicately shining like a star in the black sky. She recounted her daughter’s abduction at the hand of the wicked Sarastro, and Yves cradled her wife’s flowers a little tighter. She sat, staying completely still as that magical voice reached well above the orchestra and echoed inside the theater, and even if the audience made so much as a peep, her sound would have overridden it in sheer power alone. 

The Queen of the Night sang her ridiculous high notes with ease. She even made it look reasonable as she shed her sadness and lit up with an idea, nearly accusing the prince as she simultaneously asked for his assistance. She looked like she had twenty years ago, retaining her diamond-sharp edge over her excellent voice, and just as a silver dagger hidden beneath all of her clothes, the Queen hinted at revenge. 

A few droplets landed upon the lovely ivory of the roses. 

All of those decades ago, Yves had sent Diana a piece of fan mail—a letter which included a ticket for the last day of the fashion show she was modeling in, as well as a photograph of Yves dressed in a cheerful yellow dress. 

‘I would love to meet you,’ she had written. ‘I don’t know how you feel about fashion shows or if you have the time, but I hope to awe you as much as you’ve awed me with your performance.

‘Cheers, Yves Diamant.’ 

And Diana came, dressed in a nice shirt and informal pants, and met Yves backstage with a small pink envelope, sealed with a shiny silver sticker. 

“Hello, Miss Diamant,” she pronounced with a light German accent around both the English and French syllables. “Thank you for your invitation. I think we may meet anyway because I was already invited to the fashion show. Your designer made up the outfits for our opera. Did she tell you so?” 

“She did, but I wanted to be sure you had a ticket. Thank you so much for coming, Miss Weiss.” 

“Oh, I love to see all the new fashions.” 

They ended up talking to one another for hours. Diana followed Yves even after the show for a cup of coffee, and the two exchanged addresses before the weekend was over, when the model flew back to New York and the opera singer stayed in Germany. They remained pen pals for two years until Diana moved to the States to be in another opera and the two found each other living on opposite sides of the same city, meeting every weekend and attracting odd looks with their loud laughter any time they went out. 

After one evening spent sipping wine on the balcony of the model’s apartment, Diana had gone home and once several hours of silence passed, called Yves well into the night. 

Her house phone rang at exactly 11:13, and she answered as she normally would, though beneath a thin film of confusion, “Hello, you’ve reached Yves Diamant. Who can I say is calling so late?” 

“Yves, it’s me,” she made an uneven gasp on the other side of the line.

“Diana, what is it? Did you forget something?” 

“Listen, I—I need to say a few words, but I’m not sure how you’re going to feel after hearing them. It’s been on my mind ever since I came home and…” Her throat choked and cut at her syllables, but she continued, “I don’t think I can meet you anymore.” 

Yves made a long pause. “Can you explain why not?” 

“I—” She gasped a little and took several seconds in composing herself, her English, and her answer. “I think I fell in love with you—” and before Yves could respond to that, Diana continued, “But I feel terrible, because you’re already so younger than me, and you’re a woman, and when I think about you, my heart beats very fast and I feel like some pervert—so I decided that if I can’t be with you, that I can’t go on seeing you this way, Yves. It hurts—”

“Diana, stop. You’re gay?” 

The opera singer had begun to cry. 

“I’m coming over.” 

Through the upset, she managed, “No, Yves! It’s already so late, I shouldn’t have called.” 

“It’s fine. I’m glad you did. I’ll see you soon.” 

“You don’t have to—”

“Diana, I’ll see you soon.” 

“Okay.” She gave up, “See you soon.” 

Yves took her purse and her keys and went immediately to her small, used car. It awaited her, parallel parked on the street, slowly dripping oil upon the asphalt day by day, drop by drop. The machine started with a little effort and took her through the late-night streets, steadily, as Yves gripped the wheel and drummed her fingers against it, hard.

The time read 11:57 when she pulled up to Diana’s house and nearly tripped upon exiting the car. Yves untangled her long legs and marched forward, rang the bell and waited, until finally, Diana answered. Her eyes were pink and sunken in, over a reddened nose and rolled-up lips. The moment she exposed herself enough, Yves stole her into an embrace and she began crying again, tangling her short white hair against the model’s bright shirt. 

“Diana—” Yves’s long fingers stroked past her scalp. “Please don’t cry,” She kissed her cheek and made half a print. “I love you too.” 

Diana pulled away to look her in the eyes, her lovely blue-grey irises drowning beneath an ocean of tears. The water only stopped for a moment before growing even more violent. In response, Yves took a polka dotted handkerchief from her purse and wiped them away. They still held one another’s arms, and Yves left several slight imprints from her faded lipstick all around the opera singer’s face—her forehead, her cheeks, on one side of her nose, and even her eyelids, but never presumed to touch her lips. 

“I never said anything because I thought you were straight. You mentioned your ex-husband, and I just assumed…” 

“I’m sorry,” Diana settled down. “I divorced him because every time we were together I always imagined women. When we married, I was so young, but I never felt the way towards him I felt towards you. It’s just—”

But Yves cut her off by touching their lips together and Diana pulled her inside. Both kept going until landing upon the couch in the main room, dipping their tongues into one another’s mouths as the delirium built. Only when Yves began to kiss the other’s neck did Diana tap her on the shoulder and lead her to the bedroom, where they continued until the floor was littered with bunched up clothing. The smaller woman shook at first, but Yves held her hand and spoke to her softly as they brought one another to several loud orgasms. Now they embraced, practically unconscious beneath the plush comforter of Diana’s bed. 

Diana looked at Yves sleepily as she traced her fingers along the side of the German woman’s face. 

“Aren’t you glad you called?” 

“Yeah, I’m glad.” She blinked her tired grey eyes. “When I opened your letter and saw your picture, I thought you were the most beautiful woman. I couldn’t believe you invited me. You looked like you came from Heaven.” Diana shut her lashes. 

Yves kissed her between her brows. “That’s what I thought of you when I saw you the first time. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you since. I thought you might be a diva too, singing like that, but you’re so sweet. I still have the thank-you note you gave me. I tried not to tear the sticker when I opened it.” 

Diana said nothing and grasped their bodies even more tightly together, and several minutes later, both finally passed out, falling into a deep and pleasurable sleep. 

Twenty years later, they still woke up together, and Yves still watched intently as Diana hit those staccato runs and threatened Pamina with her dagger. The Queen harked to the heavens and left her daughter a crying mess, only to dramatically exit the stage to overwhelming applause from an audience who nearly screamed for her. 

The opera continued until the queen had been vanquished and the day saved, and to a standing ovation, all of the singers stood upon the stage and bowed. Yves clapped for her wife until the curtain fell, at which point, she bid farewell to Pauline and joined the actors backstage, who complimented her on her needle work as she passed by. 

“Thank you, where is Diana?” 

“I think I saw her go into her dressing room,” Papagena said. 

“Thank you. Great job tonight, by the way.” 

Yves travelled until she arrived before her wife’s door and knocked upon it, immediately receiving a friendly “come in!” She then turned the knob and stuck her head in, finding Diana at her vanity, removing her dramatic makeup with a wet cloth. At that point, she had erased one eye’s worth and had begun on the next, but found Yves in the mirror and smiled. 

“Oh, Liebling, you didn’t have to bring me flowers.” 

“Of course I did,” Yves closed the door behind her and locked it. “You were absolutely stellar. I loved every moment you were on stage.” 

Diana turned in her chair and looked at her lover with an eyebrow raised. Her lips shaped into a crooked grin before she turned back around to continue cleaning her makeup. “I don’t think you needed to lock the door to stay that, but I appreciate your nice words.” 

“Well,” Yves came closer and set the flowers on the vanity. They hadn’t retained their perfect shape from when she received them from Pauline, since she had grasped them so close during the performance. “I was hoping to do a little more than just compliment you.” The tips of Yves’s fingers slid along the nape of Diana’s neck as she admired her roses, and the opera goddess only looked back up when Yves unzipped her gown to the waist.

Her already pink cheeks grew red. “The cast invited both of us to dinner.” 

“They need to undress too, don’t they? Unless you all want to go out in costume.” Yves’s hand slipped inside the bodice and caressed one of Diana’s breasts. “Not that I would mind, but it might be a bit much for dinner, don’t you think?” 

Without responding, Diana stood up and allowed Yves to slip the dress down to her ankles. From there, she stepped out of it and while her wife to folded it upon the small couch only a few steps away. In the meantime, Diana attempted to remove her wig, but Yves returned and pressed their bodies together.

“Please leave that on.” Her palms smoothed over her wife’s shoulders as she kissed beneath her ear and along her jaw. 

“Why, Liebling?” Diana leaned her head back, setting her hand against Yves’s cheek and released a sigh as the designer’s precise grip smoothed along her hips. 

“We’re facing the mirror. Do I have to tell you how beautiful you look?” Yves bit Diana’s neck and began to suck upon her skin, causing the woman to lean back, bringing their bodies just a bit closer. “This look suits you, Schatzi, because you’re a fucking queen. No one can hold a candle to you.” She darkened her love bite and Diana gasped, digging her nails a little into the side of her lover’s face. 

“Oh, Yves. I’ve wanted you since we arrived here. I could barely focus—” She cut herself off when Yves’s hand slipped beneath her panties and searched through the short white hairs under her lower stomach. 

“Fuck—I love you so much.” 

“Let’s move to the couch—”

“Don’t you like the mirror?” One of Yves’s prints slipped beneath her wife’s lips and found her clitoris. The opera singer made a quiet moan and Yves bit a little harder.

“Liebling, stop. I have to sing tomorrow.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” The taller of the pair recalled her bite and kissed her wife’s cheek instead, setting her lower hand upon Diana’s stomach. “I guess it would be distracting if you showed up with a hickey. Spoiler alert: The Queen of the Night has a lesbian lover.” Yves kissed the edge of Diana’s lips. “Let’s go to the couch.” 

“Thank you.” Diana took Yves’s hand and lead her to that little sofa, and both occupied it as well as they could, lips locked and tongues twisting. 

They held one another tightly, and upon separating with a pop and a thin trail of saliva between them, Yves began leaving kisses along Diana’s body. She touched her neck, her collar bones, and her breasts, stopping for a moment to suck upon her nipples. The entire time, the older woman tossed her head back, hitching her breath and occasionally releasing a short cry. 

“Yves—”

“Don’t worry, Schatzi.” The former model and her long legs had landed upon the floor. Quickly, she found the lubrication in her purse. “I’ll be quick.” She popped the cap and spread a healthy amount onto the index and middle fingers of her right hand. 

In the meantime, Diana wasted no time in removing her panties and left her thighs open for her wife, who returned to kiss her belly button and pushed her fingers inside.

The singer made a little noise and arched her back, one of her hands coming to touch the side of Yves’s head. She opened her mouth when her wife’s lovely lips began to suck upon her stomach as she slipped her fingers in and out. 

“Scheiße!”

Yves drug her teeth against her Schatzi’s flesh, causing her to gasp and hit a high note. 

“You like that?” Her prints drifted cruelly past Diana’s G-spot and kept a pace that caused her to squeeze in time. She then moved her mouth to the German woman’s thigh and began to leave a mark, biting down as she drew upon her soft, pale flesh. 

“Yves, don’t tease—” Her prints fondled a few of those dark curls. 

“Do you mean you want more than this?” She added a third digit and Diana’s breath hitched. “I thought you seemed happy, Schatzi.”

“Liebling, please. I don’t want to beg.”

“Well, as much as I love to see you beg, I love making you happy even more—” and Yves placed her mouth directly above her wife’s clitoris and sucked gently, continued to move her hand all the while. 

Diana moaned as though she were singing. Her voice, perhaps accidentally, projected itself around that small chamber and Yves stopped a moment to laugh. 

“You know there are other people still around, don’t you?” 

“Shut up. Don’t stop, please—!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yves raised her eyebrows and smoothed her tongue over that sensitive bundle of nerves, occasionally drawing a circle around it before continuing to suck. She timed the movement of her digits with the motion of her tongue, which established a rhythm in Diana’s cries. 

Occasionally, Diana would part her generous lashes and meet gazes with Yves, who watched her lovely wife inch closer and closer to those few seconds of absolute ecstasy. The Queen appeared possessed; she arched her back and dropped her jaw and dared to ruin Yves’s hair with a few audacious fingers, making noise with her beautiful voice the entire time. Those gorgeous blue-grey eyes, which nearly matched the colors of the camellias in her wig, rolled to Yves beneath a light veil of tears and the heavy influence of sex. 

“Liebling—” she practically sat up. Her voice cut and Yves stopped to suck upon her most sensitive spot. Diana squeezed so hard she popped a few of her spouse’s joints and fell back upon the couch. 

The opera singer finally removed her wig and cap, and caught her breath. Just as Yves claimed back her hand, a round of applause came from outside the door, and then a choir of laughter. 

“Look at that, Schatzi. I think I got a standing ovation.” 

“Oh, no…” Diana lounged for a moment, her stark white hair messy around her face. She looked like some goddess a renaissance painter had eternalized forever, only a little damp with sweat that clung to her like the dew upon a rose—brought on either by her lover’s attention or another violent hot flash. 

Either way, Yves stood in her place and admired her, a wry smile twisting her entire face from ear to ear. “I’d be willing to put on an encore performance, just for you.” 

“No—” Diana looked to her, still a little high from her rolling orgasm. “There’s no time. They must be waiting for us.” 

“They’re waiting for you, My Queen.” 

“Oh, stop. Give me my clothes, won’t you?” 

Yves tossed Diana her previous outfit and composed herself as she slipped it on, combing back her ruined hair with her considerate fingers. The entire time, they traded on and off glances with one another, sometimes with a wink of a blown kiss, until Diana finally linked arms with Yves. 

“I’m going to repay you two times when we return home, Liebling. I still want to make you speak German.” 

“Bitte. I can’t wait.”

They nearly exited, but Diana stopped them both like an anchor just a few steps before the threshold and the anticipating theater troupe. “Yves, thank you.” 

“For what, Schatzi?” 

“Well,” she grew a little pink, blinking her charming eyes once before they shared gazes again. “For everything. Always. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Diana.” Yves kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the side of her nose, and even her eyelids. “Let’s go. The public awaits you.” 

And both of them walked outside to another round of applause, though whether the subject of this praise was Diana or Yves never became clear. Still, they held one another all the way to the car, and from the car to the restaurant, and from the restaurant all the way to the frothy sheets of their ruined bed. There they placed stars into one another’s eyes and sang until dawn, holding one another near just like the first time, up to the very last.


End file.
